Fantasy
by Jon Emery
Summary: Dreams can come true... if you live on the Hellmouth. Slash.


Title: Fantasy

Author: Jon Emery

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Summary: Dreams can come true… if you live on the Hellmouth.

Disclaimers: None of the characters of Buffy or Angel belong to me; they are the property of Joss Whedon (dammit!). 

* * *

  After a long day, I go home and curl up in my bed, trying to forget the cuts and bruises that seem to permanently mar my body.  I draw the blanket up around myself, and let my exhaustion take me away.  Then, He opens the door and comes into my room.  Suddenly I am filled with warmth, with content.  He lies down on the bed next to me, takes me in his arms and everything is okay.

  Yeah right.  This is the dream that keeps me going, the dream that one day he might realise that Buffy means nothing, that his oh-so-tortured soul is not complete without me.  But that's never going to happen.  Because to the whole world, I'm just Xander – plain, boring, reliable Xander.  The rock.  The one who's always there.  I'm the guy that people go to when they want to pour out their heart to someone, the agony uncle of Sunnyhell.  But what happens when I want to pour out my heart to someone?  Why am _I_ so neglected?  People can't imagine me being in pain, real emotional pain, because they figure I'm below that.  Like, Xander is so stupid, he can't conceive of the complex emotions _we're _feeling.  We're so special – we go out with vampires, and werewolves and lesbians, and its okay because we're special.  Its alright for us to go on and on and on about our problems, but Xander can't have problems.  Because we don't have time to deal with those.

  I'm wallpaper.  And for a long time, I was okay with that.  I fooled myself into thinking that I was needed – that among the Slayers, and witches, and vampires, I was valued for my humanity.  For my lack of supernatural talent.  And even if I wasn't needed, I should have been grateful, grateful and honoured to be in the presence of such power – nineteen years in an abusive home will build that kind of inferiority complex.

  But in the end I figured it out – they keep me around because it would take more effort to get rid of me.  So they tolerate me, and I go along with it because I have nowhere else to go.  These are the people who have surrounded me for god-knows-how-many years, and I begin to wonder whether I am capable of going it alone.  That used to be my fantasy – that I would one day leave Sunnyhell, and embark on some great adventure… I actually tried it the summer after high school ended, but my car broke down and I didn't make it out of the state.  Story of my life.  So then I found a new dream.  One that I was certain would never come true, but it didn't matter, because in a way the dream was enough.  Just the thought of Angel holding me was all I needed to get through the next bloody, gruelling, painful day. 

  I guess I could always go to L.A. and make a fresh start there with Angel and Cordy and their new gang, but I'm pretty sure I'd fall into my old rut – the guy who goes out for donuts and makes a few wisecracks.  Maybe the L.A. team already have one of those – maybe there'd be no place for me there, like everywhere else.

  So, this day passes like any other day – it is endless, brutal, and lonely.  I go home, pull off my boots and lie on my bed. 

  The door opens.

  I sit up, wary of vampires, although I know that they need an invitation to come into my home.  A tall, dark figure looms in the doorway, before stepping forward.  It's Him.  It's Angel.

I resist the urge to rub my eyes, to bite the cliché and pinch myself – who cares if this is a dream or not?

"Angel…" I breathe as he kneels on the floor to face me.  "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't do it." He says.  "I couldn't stay away from Sunnydale.  Away from you."  My heart beats faster, rising in my chest.  Dare I hope it?  Dare I dream that what he is saying is real?

"But, Buffy-" I begin.

"Things between Buffy and I were over long ago.  The reason I left, was…"

"Me?" Angel sighs, his hand rising to touch my cheek.  It stops, barely a hair's breadth away.  I realise that he is afraid.  Afraid that he might hurt me.  I touch his hand, caressing his palm with my fingertips.  I feel like electricity is running through my veins.

"Yes, Xander.  I couldn't bear to see what happened to Buffy happen to you.  I nearly destroyed her.  I couldn't take a chance on it happening again."

"You left to protect me." I look into his dark, utterly beautiful eyes.  They glitter with unshed tears, mirroring my own.

"Yes.  I left because I love you." I feel like a knife has been run through my torso, a double-edged sword of pleasure and pain, bliss and torment.  He cannot mean it – it makes no sense, Angel loves Buffy… but even as I think this, I find myself leaning forward to kiss him.

"I love you too," I whisper as our lips touch. "I always have."  The kiss deepens, the rest of the world dissolving around us.  I pull him onto the bed, revelling in the feeling, the feeling of being lost in his arms.  His coat falls to the ground, as do our shirts.  But we do not have sex.  Not yet.  For now, just being here with him is enough for me. 

  But through the bliss, a question rises.  "How did you get in here?" I ask softly as I nestle into his embrace.

"Your invitation," he says.  "The welcome mat in your doorway.  You really should think about replacing that."  He smiles, then laughs.  I laugh too, I laugh in joy and rapture and every other good feeling in the world; because tonight, all of my dreams have come true.


End file.
